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A gasp escapes from me when one thick digit slides from my clit to the bottom of my slit before drifting upward again. He retraces the same path until I’m squirming, desperate for more. Only then does one thick finger slide inside me until it’s completely buried. My teeth sink into my lower lip as my inner muscles clench around it.
My skin prickles with desire before it pools in my core like liquid heat as a growl reverberates throughout the silent room.
When he drags the finger from my body, a deep sense of loss fills me. As soon as I lift my hips in silence askance, he presses back inside until it’s seated completely. He repeats the gesture for a third time before his finger strokes up my bare belly, leaving a wet trail in its wake until he reaches my breast. He circles one tip until the little peak stiffens up as if on command. Then he drags the finger back down to my core and dips back inside. It’s slowly that he pumps the thick digit before echoing the movement, circling the other nipple and covering it with my own arousal.
Fire ignites inside my belly as it returns to my center before sliding deep inside. He drags it in and out of my body, finding a rhythmic motion that pushes me closer to the brink until I’m tap dancing on it. My muscles tighten with each deep slide.
I’ve masturbated before and understand what the sensation blooming to life in my core means.
I don’t give a crap if this stranger is playing with my body and watching me teeter on the cusp of falling apart. The only thing I care about is the orgasm that’s so close I can practically taste it. I’m so mindless that I can’t help but chase after the delicious pleasure just out of reach. My body bows off the mattress as his finger slips free, my inner muscles clenching around nothingness.
A desperate scream builds at the back of my throat as all my inhibitions fall to the wayside. Even though I try to keep it locked deep within, a tortured whimper breaks free, shattering the silence of the room. The deep scrape of his chuckle matches my intensity as his fingers settle back over my clit before rubbing gentle circles.
That’s all it takes for me to careen over the edge and into oblivion. I moan as he continues to stroke my pussy. This isn’t my first orgasm, but it’s certainly the hardest one I’ve ever had. It crashes over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drag me to the very bottom of the ocean. The pleasure rushing through me is so great that I don’t care if I ever surface again.
Almost distantly, I realize that all I’ve been doing in the darkness was fumbling around. The pleasure was nothing more than a paper tiger compared to this. Minutes tick by, or maybe it’s hours before I finally float back to earth. My limbs feel heavy as I once again become aware of my surroundings.
He continues to stroke my clit with gentle fingers before he leans over my upper body and presses his lips against my scar. It’s so tempting to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. I want to revel in the newfound pleasure he’s opened my eyes to. Before I can work up the courage, he pulls away and the moment of intimacy vanishes into thin air.
I lie still as he rises to his feet and wonder if he’ll shed his clothing.
Instead, his footsteps fade from the room, growing more distant. The door in the outer area opens before softly clicking back into place. Seconds pass as I lay paralyzed with the robe still gaping open.
Did he really…
Walk out the door and leave me?
After giving me the best orgasm of my life, which granted doesn’t mean much, he just left?
I rip away the blindfold and blink, staring around me, looking for some sign of the man who was here.
Who ran his hands over my body.
Who pressed his lips against my scar.
A shiver dances down my spine at the intimate memories.
But there’s nothing.
I slip from the bed and tighten the robe around my body before cinching the belt and beelining for my purse to rifle through it. My fingers wrap around my cell as it chimes with an incoming message. A bank notification pops up, announcing that ten grand has been deposited into my account.
I can only stare at the screen in disbelief.
We didn’t even have sex.
Did he change his mind?
Was he unable to go through with it?
My heart clenches at the possibility.
Sure, he kissed my scars, but maybe, in the end, they repulsed him. I tuck an errant lock of hair behind my ear as a heavy pit settles at the bottom of my belly. I pull up the number I texted earlier and stare at it.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
It’s so tempting to reach out.
Is that allowed?
